


The Arrest

by RedRidingHood24



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awesome Cora, Buzcut Stiles, Drinking, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Sexual Content, Sheriff Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Silly Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build, Sweet Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1767499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRidingHood24/pseuds/RedRidingHood24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles takes over as Sherriff after his dad retires along with his new wife, Melissa McCall. Everyone's left Beacon Hills after the madness dies down to start their lives as married (and single) adults while Stiles has stayed behind to protect the town and it's citizens. Lydia has relocated to LA to pursue a career in fashion. Scott and Kira have married and live a few miles from Scott's old home (because who are we kidding? Alpha's can't abandon their den.) Derek leaves his life in South America with Cora for a temporary visit to Beacon Hills for the anniversary of their parent's death. Stiles and Derek have a not so casual encounter after years of being apart... Slow build Sterek with eventual use of the other characters. Will switch POV's frequently to most characters. Everyone is in their 20's, Derek is still the same as he was AKA when will we know the actual ages of the Hales? Malia is not a thing (sorry beautiful, I just don't know what to do with you.) Major character death in 3B did not happen!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mischief Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm not sure if there is a story out there already like this or not, I just thought I'd give it a try. The first chapter is short but the next will be longer. Thanks for checking it out!

 

**Stiles’ POV**

 

                My mornings don’t start with coffee; per se.They usually start with a call from dispatch telling me that I have to get my ass out of bed because some psycho is running amuck.

                “Stilinski, you’re late! I called like twenty minutes ago!”

                “Sorry, coach. Hurried out of bed. Says you reported a burglary?” Coach had lost more hair since the last time I saw him, which wasn’t long ago. He was graying at the ends and crinkling in the corners.

                “It’s this Mischief night! It’s going too far. They took my pens, my extra whistles, and even my greeting card collection. Then some idiot had the great idea to fill my desk with baked beans! I’m allergic to legumes!” I snort and turn to grin while coach carefully slides his drawers open, revealing the beans.

                “Smells great.”

                “Smells like vandalism!” I search last night’s video footage while coach stands over my shoulder. Two freshmen haul ass down the hall at around midnight, their hands carrying crockpots of beans.

                “I’ll get them before school, coach.” I assure him, even though I won’t. Amateur prank, yes. Vandalism, no. No response from coach could beat the “son of a bitch” I received my junior year.

                “You know, Stilinski, it’s great that you went into this whole cop thing like your dad. Gotta say, I’m proud of you. Can’t say that about Greenberg, I mean he pumps sewers on the weekends. Needless to say he probably smells the same as he did in high school.”

 

                **Derek’s POV**

 

                Dia Das Bruxas. Day of the Witches. Cora puts on her yellow eyes while we walk around the city, getting compliments on her “contacts” and showing her pointy teeth to children. She loves this too much, and I have to say, I do too.

               

               


	2. In Holding

**Stiles’ POV**

                My car sits with me in it, eating lunch and waiting for the next car to pass with flying colors. No speeding while I have curly fries, people. This is once a month so no one better ruin it.

 A black car’s hood glints in the sun coming up the highway. Its rims flash in my windshield and grab my attention. It wizzes past at a normal speed but the driver is strikingly familiar.

                A serious face glances in my direction, starring me down without actually seeing me. Dark hair, broad shoulders, a scowl. It’s everything I can get in a two second look. Derek Hale. I flash my lights and turn the siren on, pulling out and advancing the few cars behind him. He pulls to the shoulder of the road and I can see his hand go up in frustration. I get out of the car and walk towards his window that is rolling down. “Derek!” It’d been six years. Six years since we’d made the decision to split up the pack to protect the town, to stay as far away from each other as possible to prevent anything from coming into our circle again. He looks exactly the same, but a little darker due to being exposed to more sun and heat in South America. His thick eyebrows rise when he sees me, blue irises flashing slightly before he can control it. I can feel my old life rumble in my chest as he speaks.

                “You’re the Sherriff now?” There’s a faint hint of a smirk. For a moment, I consider this to be dangerous, taboo, even, for him to be here. But he must have an important reason. It’s harmless, and I give in.

                “So what’s the verdict, Sherriff Stilinski?” I shiver. It’s always strange hearing that. I’m still in shock at seeing him. He could be gone in a second, as fast as he’d been speeding. A part of my life years ago; my life that excited me, could be gone in an instant again. “Are you giving me a ticket?” I play into it.

                “I’m afraid your crimes are a little extreme for a ticket, Mr. Hale.” I deepen my voice dramatically. He gives me a frustrated face. “Get out of your vehicle.”

                “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He’s annoyed and his hands clench the steering wheel. I look for claws. “Stiles-“

                “Sir.” I let out a chuckle. I can’t play with a straight face anymore. “Here I am, cuffs, and a Derek Hale. I have to arrest you. I can’t not arrest you.” My smile is breaking my face. He has to give in. “Refusing an officer is a whole other crime.”

                “God…” He pushes the door open, huffing and slamming the door shut. I grab his wrists and slap the cuffs on.

                “How many times have you been arrested by a Stilinski?” I think back to the first time my dad arrested him after Scott and I sort of…dug up his sister but hey, dude was crazy.

                “For a legitimate crime? Zero.”

                “This could be the greatest day of my life.” I make sure I shove his head down and not so gently push him into the back. “I just man handled Derek Hale. I’ll call a tow for you car.” He says nothing the entire ride to the station but I hear him grunt.

                He could easily break out of them, but he doesn’t. I drag Derek through the lobby of the station and into my office. “Aren’t you booking me?” He asks.

                “That’s no fun.” Derek sits in one of the wooden chairs in front of my desk and I shine a lamp in his face.

                “This is exactly how they do it on T.V, Stiles. Great job.” The frustration puckers his mouth like a sour lemon.

                “Why are you in Beacon Hills, Derek Hale?” I try to intimidate him while I ask questions I do absolutely need to know. This reunion can’t all be serious. “Where were you headed?” He huffs once and I can see his tongue scrape his front teeth.

                “Hale house. It’s the anniversary. I’ll be gone by tomorrow.” I walk closer to him and set the light in another direction. The keys to the cuffs jingle in my hand and I remove his wrists from their braces.

                “You know what? You know the rules. I trust it.” After Aiden died, we all knew it was done. Beacon Hills had had enough. We’d all go to any length to prevent anymore fatalities. Even if it meant ridding the town of the supernatural completely. “Stay as long as you’d like. This is the most normal anything’s felt in a long time. But…there’s one thing I just have to do.” Derek shows me his signature grumpy face. He knows.

                “In the holding cell you go, buddy.” I make sure I lock the door behind him. “Would you like a cup to jingle on the bars? Make some music?” He stands there, staring. Does his face ever get tired of making that expression? “Sour wolf…” I say as I let him out, mocking his face but patting him on the shoulder. Touching Derek Hale was not as scary as it used to be. “You know, I missed you.”

               


	3. Off Duty

“So your dad and Melissa? I always thought there was something there,” Derek says over a bowl of cereal. I let him and Cora stay the night since he doesn’t own the loft anymore and every motel in Beacon Hills is terrible. He’s being nicer now that I let him out of the holding cell.

                “Have you and Cora encountered anyone…new? Bestiary wise?” He shakes his head. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat. I was starting to think you survived on anger.” His eyes look up from under heavy brows.

                “Things are better now,” is all he says. I know Derek and Cora had always been particularly close from what she’s told me. He couldn’t have always been emotionless and bitter. He’s probably much calmer now that they’ve spend years catching up, getting back into the bond they once shared.

                “What became of Peter?” I chill up thinking about him. That slight pulling of his top lip haunts images of a bloody Lydia so long ago.

                “He’s been travelling.”

                “Good riddance.” Derek agrees with a nod accompanied by a milky slurp. “Gross.” This isn’t the first morning I’ve spent with Derek. They’re almost like mornings by yourself. Breakfast foods and groggy turn taking of showers was always the norm between Derek, Scott, Isaac, and I on days dedicated to planning and coordinating against enemies. They almost became…comfortable.

                He puts his bowl in the sink and waits for me to finish mine. With Cora accompanying him, Derek is willing to go out and do things as a normal human being would. A lacrosse game is scheduled for tonight. It started a little early this season due to Coach’s recent annoyance with players skipping Cross Country.

                Cora looked the same as she did long ago: very pretty, not as hardened as Derek, and as vicious as ever. A text buzzes my phone, vibrating my butt cheek so much it makes me giggle. When I take it out of my pocket, Cora gives me a disgusted face, knowing now why I laughed.

                “Good news! Scott and Kira will be joining us.”

                “Who’s Kira?” Cora sticks her head up from the backseat of my jeep. (Are you kidding me? I would never abandon this jeep. Ever.)

                “Scott’s wife. She’s sort of a Kitsune. And her mother was responsible for the whole Nogitsune thing. I’m sure Derek’s told you all about that.” I cringe. It becomes a little difficult to swallow. I notice Derek pull his bottom lip in. “Um…they live a few miles out. And they visit pretty often. They were just here for the wedding, actually. The joining of the McCalls’ and Stilinskis’.”

                “Yikes.” I hear Cora huff out and Derek snort.

                “Was that _humor_ , Derek Hale?” I ask, bewildered.

                “He’s laughed more than once in his lifetime, believe it or not.” I think of the times I’ve seen him smile. Each one had been with sarcasm, I conclude.

                When we park in the lot of the school, silver SUV pulls up right beside us. Scott and Kira step out, locking hands, happy in love. “Hey, buddy!” Scott says to me. Derek walks over to him and pats his back. Scott unsurprisingly pulls him in for a tight hug.

                “Still and alpha, I see.” Scott smiles at Cora ad she lends one to him.

                “Wow, dude, it’s been so long. Come here, buddy.” Scott’s warm as always, strong and tight in his grip. “So Coach is done with Cross Country? Wish he’d have made that decision when we were on the team.”

                Derek and Cora take places at the top of the shorter bleachers and we join them. “Basketball, huh?” I ask Derek.

                “What?”

                “You played basketball at Beacon Hills.” Derek nods. The images of him playing and having fun don’t cross my mind. I’ve seen him exercise in the mornings but never for recreation, only for stress relief. It almost makes me want to buy the guy a massage and aromatherapy. “But you’ve been to a Lacrosse game before, right? And not just to monitor Scott after he was bitten.”

                “Yes.”

                “Peter was on the team for a season. Until he decided he hated being sweaty,” Cora pipes in, pulling out a crunchy snack she’d had me stop and buy before we came.

               

                We win by two points. Coach celebrates by taking all the credit and dumping a bottle of Gatorade over his own head. The team tackles him to the ground and when he can get his head up to breathe, he yells, “Stilinski! Get them-“

                “Sorry, coach. I’m off duty!”

 

                “So Allison and Isaac are living in Paris?” Scott nods, relaxing in his favorite chair in my house.

                “Yeah. Isaac’s not doing so well with learning the language. He says it makes him gag when he does the accent.” The sudden thought of Isaac in a beret (and of course a scarf) comes to mind.

                “Where’s Chris?” Derek stands with his arms crossed. He and Chris came together at the end of our Kitsune era. Chris became almost a father figure to the entire pack when we were falling apart.

                “Florida,” Scott says.

                “Because he’s old? He’s not _Florida_ old, though.” My eyebrows rise when I debate myself on Argent’s age.

                “The dude needed a vacation, poor bastard.” Cora narrows her eyes, never knowing Chris well, but realizing his hardships that came along with his family.

                “Coffee?” I ask, going around the room. “Coffee?” I put a hand on Derek’s shoulder, not even thinking of the fire that might come from it. To my surprise, he doesn’t even react besides the nod he gives me, his short hair tickling my arm as his head moves. A man of many nods. “Are you sure?” I ask Scott and Kira after they say no.

                “Yeah. We should get heading soon. Hate the drive back.” They give rounds of hugs, Cora and Derek’s both stiff as always. Even as kids, I’m sure they never liked them.

                “Goodnight, guys,” Kira says sweetly before exiting. Her puffy skirt bounces with each step.

                “Alright. I need to get out of here. You guys want me to bring back any food?” Cora puts a jacket on and waits for our answer. We decline her offer and she leaves us with silence.

                “Do you drink?” I ask Derek, wiggling my eyebrows and thinking about the bottles of Jack I have in my basement and the rarity of drinking company I keep.

               

               


	4. Drugs and Alcohol

“Do you like drinking games?” I ask Derek. He’s already downed two big gulps of the whiskey before I set the cups on the table.

                “No,” he says bluntly. Nothing would stop me from playing this game. Not even a sleepy Derek Hale.

                “Scott and I used to play this.”

                “Under the Sherif’s supervision?” Derek raises both eyebrows, his eyes staying lowered. I know he can’t get drunk, like Scott, but it’s all in the power of suggestion.

                “He only really noticed when we left cups out. They didn’t exactly smell like milk.” He sighs, way too dramatically if I may add, and leans forward on his elbows.

                “Rules?” I turn on the TV, keeping my finger on the channel button of the remote.

                “We drink every time the words connect into a sentence when I change channels.” I consider filling both cups but I figure it will take too much time to keep refilling. I open two of the three bottles; one for him, one for me.

                I flip through the channels, listening closely for anything that could sound like something. Once you find one, they all come flooding in.

                Each voice comes together to form a broken up sentence. “Before the Mets, our lives ate planets.” I pick up my bottle and look to Derek.

                “That counts?” He asks.

                “Yes, it definitely counts.” We both take a gulp and Derek makes his most animated face yet at the taste.

                The sentences start becoming a little more perverse and we become a little more laughy.

                “Barbeque balls found in mother’s milk sex scandal.”

                “Now that. That is a good one,” he says.

                He’s getting silly because I’m getting silly and he’s feeding off of the intoxicated energy that’s seeping out of me.

                “I’ll need your I.D along the border of Daytona and Jerry’s thighs.” Derek drinks the last dribble in his bottle and then finishes mine.

                “Next,” he says and cracks open the third bottle. After a little while longer, we settle on watching Cops and wait for Cora to come home.

                “We should have told her to get snacks when she asked. Should we save her some?” Derek shakes his head.

                “It makes her angry. Anger makes her change.” We’ve become so immune to the taste and sting that we take deep slugs before the other can even set the bottle down. “You’re disgusting,” he says, pulling the bottle from his mouth, a string of my spit connecting his bottom lip to the laces of the opening.

                “I forgot. I’m a sloppy drunk.” I smile at him with all my teeth, eyes heavily lidded and looking at him, annoying him to the millionth degree.

                “Yeah, I’m done for the night.” I close up the bottle, finished too, and top off my burning stomach cocktail with half a glass of water.

                “You know, I really miss having you guys around. Beacon Hills kind of sucks without all the scary crap going on.” I wrap myself in a blanket and shut the kitchen windows. The nights have been getting colder and colder. I don’t feel as clumsy as I normally would. I guess with regular drinking, you get a little used to the effects. “I even miss your grumpy ass sometimes.” Checkpoint: I still say stupid things under the influence.

                He only snorts, retrieving a glass and filling it with lemonade that had been sitting in the pitcher for who knows how long. “Can’t say I haven’t enjoyed being away from your spasmodic self.” Derek drinks the lemonade and leans against the sink, rinsing the cup out and returning it to the cupboard. “But…it’s nice having company other than Cora.” They’re practically the same person, how can you stop enjoying your own company? But I take the almost-compliment.

               

Cora spills out the contents of a plastic bag onto the coffee table. Sea-Salt popcorn, prepackaged cookies, and granola bars are some of the convenience store goodies she picked up even though we’d declined. “This is mine, and so is this.” Cora gathers a crinkling bag of popcorn and a chocolate chip granola bar, claiming them before I can even survey the specifics. Derek nurses plain granola sitting on top of a thick layer of dried and sweetened yogurt. I get started on a peanut butter cookie, but I begin to feel sick when it mixes with my whiskey on an empty stomach, so I sit back and watch a man cry about the cocaine that was taking shelter in his pants. But it wasn’t his, Officer!

                I remember the one moment in high school when I thought that Cora was absolutely cute. She’s a lighter version of Derek; smooth and small and scary in a less raw way. But there’d been Lydia. Beautiful Lydia Martin. She’s being beautiful in New York now. She never visits, but we’ll get a collective postcard every once in a while, most of which are sent to Scott, or we’ll see her designs on magazines we pass at the grocery store. Martin Couture. The line provides girls with short skirts, totally adorable and sexy at the same time, and blouses in lilac, dusty rose, and blues. Critics rave about the affordable but gorgeous supply of clothing. We’re all proud of her for it. And we’re proud of her for being on her own, no masculine arms to fall back on. She’s strong; an admirable figure to women.

                Derek is a slow eater. He picks off chunks and places them in his mouth.  I can see him removing the yogurt with his tongue when he rolls it around in his mouth, his tongue poking his stubbled cheek. _Don’t say something stupid don’t say something stupid don’t say something stupid._

                Cora gets up to go to the guest room after Cops ends. “Got enough pillows?” I ask Derek when he slides down to get comfortable on the couch. I have all my stuff together, ready for bed. I’m back on duty tomorrow.

                “Yeah.”

                “Okay.” I’m halfway up the stairs and still looking down to the living room in the dark. “Warm enough?”

                “Yes, Stiles.”

                “Okay. Goodnight.” I look into nothing for a minute longer until I hear him huff out of his nose. He can see me. My toes press into the carpet on top of the steps. I can already feel the hangover.


	5. IMPORTANT AN

(PLEASE READ AN: Hey everybody, I’m kind of stuck right now. I kind of wrote myself into a corner with this and I don’t really know where to go with it. I’m going to take a break from this story for a little bit, unless someone has an idea and maybe wants to share it with me to get me out of this blockage, that would be really awesome. But right now I’m kind of just like “blah” with it and I don’t really know where to go with the plot ): I might just make it shorter or something or just turn it into a one shot, but I’m not sure right now. If anyone could help I’d really appreciate it. Thank you and sorry to the people who have enjoyed reading this and were looking forward to a new chapter ):


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